The Hunt and Kill
by Pippoz
Summary: An Alt. way that Dean deals with Sam after the episode 'After The Levee Breaks'. Dean feels that the only way to take care of Sam, is to kill him before he becomes a demon and raises the devil.


**I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. This is just a story for enjoyment and fun, and I don't make any money off this story.**

**I hope you enjoy it!**

**This story is basically an alternate way of Dean handling Sam after he beat him up in the episode 'When the levee breaks'. **

**I was inspired by the song 'Crawl' by Breaking Benjamin, actually not just by that song. But by the whole Cd **

' **Dead Agony'. It just has a lot of lyrics that remind me of the Winchester brothers. **

**-Pipp**

The Hunt and Kill

Chapter 1: Glass

Dean held his right shoulder as he drove with the other hand, hissing in pain with every movement he made. Blood was running down from his shoulder to elbow, and then dripping onto his pants below. There was dark red spot on his jeans from where it was dripping. He must have gotten a piece of glass stuck in his shoulder when Sam threw him into the glass table.

" Damnit, Sammy." He said, but it came out very hoarse, as he was speaking from a throat that was still very sore after being almost choked to death by his own brother.

His blood covered hand moved from holding his shoulder, down to grab the silver handle and rolled down the window. He leaned out the window a bit spitting out blood before rolling it back up. God, if Sam had knocked any of his teeth out…

Dean's mind was already running around with ideas of what he needed to do about his brother. He'd turned to the dark side, to drinking the blood of that demon bitch, and the image of Sam that kept popping up in his mind was that of him with black demon eyes. No. Sam wasn't a demon yet, but he was becoming one. The Hazel eyed man couldn't let him brother become something like that. He'd come back from hell after giving his soul away to save the man, he wasn't going to let him become one of those heartless bastards. His father's words spoke loudly in his head.

'Save Sam. But if you can't, Kill him.'

John couldn't have known that something like this would happen to his youngest son. But clearly he understood that there was something evil in Sam.

Dean shook his head, trying to get the words out of his head. The problem was that he was starting to believe his old man's words. That the best way to take care of this problem was to just end it. The answer was to kill Sam.

His eyes began to close, and he blinked to keep them open. He'd been losing too much blood from various wounds from the glass, and he was beginning to become light headed and tired. Pulling over seemed to be the best idea, but Dean didn't want to leave himself open to attack by parking on the side of the road alone and hurt. He had to make it to some kind of hotel.

His hand moved back up to his wound and he dug his knuckles into the wound. The pain would wake him up a bit, enough that he could make it to the next town and rest. He pulled into some hotel; he didn't really care at the moment. He wanted and needed rest.

The owner of the hotel looked at his wounds as he handed her some cash, sighing his name as Steve Tyler, and asked for a room. But she didn't ask if he was hurt or needed help. Dean was thankful for that. She passed him the key and he took the key in his hand. His currently dark green eyes looked at the number, '7' before walking down the hall looking for the number. Seeing his number he shoved the key in the keyhole turning the door with his clean hand and hissing as he did so. Pushing it open he threw his backpack on the table as he slammed the door shut. He hissed loudly as he peeled of his jacket, clearly his blood had dried and caked, making it painful to pull it off.

He opened his backpack pulling out string and a needle before heading off the bathroom. Dean nearly screamed as he pulled off his navy button up shirt and the dark grey plain t-shirt underneath. Both had become one with the wound and he found himself pulling bits of his grey shirt from his wound. The rest of his clothes joined the ones on the floor as he jumped into a hot shower. The hot water ran down his body cleaning off the blood that was on it, he looked at his shoulder and made sure the water clean it out good, before washing his hair and body.

The hazel eyed man growled in annoyance when he couldn't reach to pull out the glass out of various spots on his back and the nice big one out of his shoulder. This was more like a two person job. Though he didn't really have anyone he could call to help him out. Dean pulled one of the off white hotel towels from the top of the toilet and wrapped it around his waist. The brown haired man sat down the couch and picked up the phone, his eyes saw the telephone list and he dialed the one for room service.

"Hello roomservice.. how may I help you?"

"I need someone to come down to my room.. room 7.. and help me with something."

"I'm… sorry sir. We don't.. offer those kinds of services." The lady on the other line said very nervously.

Dean did his best not to growl into the phone that would only scare this lady more it seemed.

"Listen lady, Ain't that kind of thing. I've got some glass in my back... and frankly its uncomfortable, painful and its making me bleed. So if you would kindly send someone down here to help, I'd appreciate it."

"The hospital is right down the street…"

"Do you really want a hurt and bleeding man walking down the street or driving?"

There was silence for a bit before a soft reply. "No. Hold on sir. And I'll see if I can get someone down there to help you."

"Thank you." He replied before sighing loudly and putting the phone back on the hook. Dean couldn't believe he'd convinced the lady to get someone to come down here. But he really didn't like hospitals and he want to risk getting behind the wheel again in his current state.

"You know… you're not alone." A very dark voice said from the corner of the bedroom.

Dean turned his head and his now blue eyes focused on the dark form. It walked of the shadow and the hunter let out a sigh he didn't know he had been holding.

"Cas, I hate when you do that."

"I am sorry. I felt that you were in some sort trouble."

"Nothing I can't handle on my own."

Castiel raised his eyebrow and then eyed the phone then looked at Dean. "Then that phone call was for nothing?"

"No." he said turning to sit on the bed and look at the angel. "Do you want to use your magical angel powers there and remove the glass from my back?"

"No. I'll be tracked."

The brown haired man shook his head and laughed a bit. "Then you're no help."

Castiel grunted. "Turn your back toward me. I shall have to pull it out by hand."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You serious Cas?"

"If I wasn't, would I have asked?"

"No."

The hazel eyed man turned his back toward the angel and shivered when he felt hands on his back.

"You may want to find something to bite down on this is going to be…. Painful."

His blue eyes scanned the cheap hotel room and he reached over grabbing a pillow. "Just get it over with." He said before shoving the pillow his mouth.

Castiel moved his hands over to a spot on Dean's back that seemed to have a lot of little pieces of glass and started pulling them out. With these small ones, the hunter simply grunted into the pillows, as they weren't too painful. More like annoying. The man nearly screamed out loud when Castiel started pulling out the one in his shoulder.

"This one, is in deep. It will take some time."

Dean wanted to turn around and tell the angel 'No shit.'. But Castiel started pulling on the glass again and he hissed into his pillow. After ten minutes of pulling, he heard a knock on the door. The angel stopped pulling and the hunter pulled the pillow out of his mouth.

The hazel eyed man cleared his throat before speaking. "Yes?"

"Mr. Tyler. I'm here on behalf of room service. I want to check you out."

"It's all good now. I've got some help."

"Sir, I suggest you open the door…"

Dean yelled out as Castiel grabbed on the glass and pulled with all his might, and it slid out with a very disgusting sound.

"SIR! Are you alright?"

Dean shivered and answered in a shaky voice. "Yes. I'm fine."

"If you insist sir, if you don't need help from me now. I'm sliding my number under the door call me if you ever do."

Dean's eyes watched the paper slip under the door. He even got girls numbers when he wasn't trying. Though this was a different kind of number, this was for help not a booty call. The hunter turned his head to look at Castiel.

"That hurt you know."

"I am aware. But it seemed to be the best plan of action, to yank it out while you we're distracted."

"Well, while you back there… think you can sew that up for me…"

It was silent for a moment, and Dean just sighed before turning his head to look at Castiel. But the Angel was gone. It seemed that he had just been there to make sure that the hunter wasn't bleeding to death, and once done with his task, it was back to saving the world. He picked up the string and needle, before walking into the bathroom. The wound looked pretty bad in the mirror, so he picked a wash cloth and painfully cleaned the blood from his wound. Dean put the black string through the needle and then began to grind his teeth as pushed the needle through his skin. It was a very slow process, sewing his wound shut, and he almost passed out throughout the whole process. Taking some gauze and some medical tape he covered the front wound. Now came the problem of figuring out how to take care of back of the shoulder. He had hoped that Castiel would sew it for him, but it seemed that wasn't going to happen.

His blue eyes moved and focused on the iron on the other side of the room. He rolled his eyes and growled. Heat sealed wounds, epically bleeding ones that one couldn't sew shut because they we're located where you couldn't reach. Dean moved across the room grabbing the iron from its cradle on the wall, and plugging the object into the plug in the bathroom. From his backpack he grabbed his flask and sat on the toilet. Uncapping the silver item, he took a swig of the whisky inside. It burned all the way down.

Seeing that the little red light on the iron was on, he took a long swig, before closing the flask and putting it on the toilet lid. Standing, Dean took the iron in his hand and moved so that he could see the wound on his back in the mirror. He pulled a towel from the rack and shoved it in his mouth; all he needed was someone calling the cops because they could hear his screams of pain. His blue eyes stared at the wound on his back, and the iron slowly moved closer to his wound and to his skin. Biting down on the towel, his hand pushed the burning hot iron to his skin. He did his best not to close his eyes as he did so, his eyes needed to make sure he didn't burn other skin, other than that of his wound. After waiting five or ten seconds Dean pulled the iron off his wound, before spitting out the towel. His hand pulled the plug of the iron out of the wall quiet forcibly, not out of anger, but out of sheer pain. The hand holding the iron was shaking as he put it in the dry sink. His wound was now sealed with heat, and wouldn't be bleeding any time soon. There was a pattern of dots from the iron's bottom now permanently imprinted on his back. Putting gauze over the now sealed wound seemed stupid, seeing at it was still burning hot, and he didn't need them becoming one with his back.

Dean walked toward the bed, and simply let his body collapse on the bed; his body had been through so much shit today. All he wanted and his body wanted was rest. Using what was left of his strength, he pulled himself up toward the pillow. Not even bothering to pull the blankets onto himself or to remove his shoes. His eyes closed as he let himself drift to sleep. Hoping tomorrow would be better then today.


End file.
